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"Please show Lady Marchand to the parlour and offer her refreshments," Anthony instructed, deciding it was best not to go rushing through the house and give any weight to the urgency of women. "Please inform her I shall be there presently."
"Of course, Your Grace."
With that, Mathers disappeared, and Anthony took a few more minutes to complete what he had already been doing before he began to make his way towards the parlour. He had just reached the door when Mathers appeared, looking quite hurried.
"Is all well, Mathers?"
The man paused and bowed the moment he saw the duke and informed him, "Lady Marchand has requested tea, Your Grace. I was just on my way to fetch it, though I shall remain if you wish as she appears quite aggravated."
"Thank you, Mathers. Please go and fetch the tea," Anthony instructed, thinking to himself,I have been at war on the frontlines. I am sure I can handle one noblewoman.
The moment he entered, Lady Marchand rushed to her feet where she had been sitting upon one of the fine silken couches. She was quite good-looking for a woman in her early fifties, though the moment he saw her Anthony realised what Mathers had been talking about. She was much paler than when he had last seen her, with pursed lips and worried eyes, and her lady's maid stood close by as if she thought she might need her at any moment.
"Lady Marchand, though I am pleased to see you, I must admit I am quite surprised at your visit," Anthony greeted her, bowing as she offered the usual and respectful curtsey.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, I was made aware of your arrival in London a few days ago, and I have been making myself sick trying to decide on whether to visit you, and having heard of your impending departure, I realised I could not hold it off any longer," Lady Marchand admitted, and it was clear from the way she fidgeted slightly that something was clearly upsetting her.
Having two sisters and now a wife, Anthony was beginning to understand more and more each day the need for being gentle with women, and so he stepped forward, gesturing to the couch.
"Perhaps we ought to sit, and you can tell me exactly why you have come."
"Oh, yes, Your Grace." Lady Marchand nodded and stepped backwards to drop back down into her seat. Her lady's maid remained close by with her head bowed but clearly watching for any sign that her mistress might need her.
Anthony settled down at a respectable distance on the couch beside her and watched the noblewoman in silence for a moment before deciding to say what he was thinking out loud, "Forgive me for saying so, Lady Marchand, but I can't help noticing that you appear quite troubled by something."
Even now as she held her handkerchief upon her lap, her hand was shaking.
"Oh, Your Grace, I am extremely troubled, and it is exactly why I have come," Lady Marchand explained. "Though I am concerned about how you may react to the news I have to divulge."
Anthony raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing. The two looked at each other for several moments, and it was clear the noblewoman was still undecided as to whether she wished to impart her information or not.
"Perhaps we might begin with what this is about?" Anthony urged gently, sensing that the woman was in no great state for him to demand she spill what she had to say so that he could get on with his day. He had quickly come to learn with his sisters that making demands of them did not help but only made them more reluctant to speak.
"I can assure you, Lady Marchand, whatever you wish to tell me will be held in the strictest of confidence."
At that, the lady's gaze softened, and she looked at him with large, wrinkled eyes as she asked, "Your Grace, your wife, what do you know of her family?"
At the mention of her, Anthony's heart began to race, and he once again realised just how much he missed her. There was such a deep reaction inside him that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even though a clawing sensation in his gut already told him he did not like where this conversation was headed.
Determined to see it through to the end and hear what the noblewoman had to say, Anthony responded, "Her father passed, but her mother yet lives. She is the daughter of the late Comte St Clair, and her uncle is the current one. They are resident in France and hold French titles, yet they do have an English lineage which stretches quite far."
As he spoke, he watched the colour draining from Lady Marchand's face. And her voice shook as she asked, "And it was your wife who was in attendance with you at Lord Grenham's ball a few weeks ago, was it not?"
"It was," Anthony answered with a nod. "Forgive me, My Lady, but what does this have to do with …"
Before he could finish his sentence, Lady Marchand announced, "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the woman that attended Grenham's ball was not the niece of the Comte St Clair."
Taken aback by her words, Anthony physically recoiled, his hand gripping the edge of the couch to stop himself from retorting immediately. Taking a moment to let her words sink in, he asked, "What is it that you mean, My Lady?"
Heart racing, Anthony stared at the woman in perhaps a most rude manner, yet he could not bring himself to look away. He had to see her face, study it, and know for sure that whatever she was about to say was not a lie. In his line of work, he had become quite familiar with the tells when someone was lying, a twitch here and a glance sideways there. Lady Marchand did none of it.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have long been a friend to the St Clairs, and the lady in attendance at the Grenham ball was most assuredly not Lady Clara."
Anthony could not believe what he was hearing. The words washed over him like a freezing cold tide, and he wanted so desperately never to have heard them.
"I am afraid you must be mistaken, My Lady." Anthony shook his head. "I am most assuredly married to Lady Clara St Clair."
Lady Marchand, who had been trembling and struggling to speak for the entirety of their meeting now straightened up and looked him deep in the eye.
